


Everything to Me

by rainyskies



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Frontotemporal Dementia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:38:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainyskies/pseuds/rainyskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it looked bare without the bright Christmas decorations often scattered around the house.  The lack of voices, the emptiness caused by the absence of a familiar broad figure, which would walk by and ruffle a hand through Stiles’ hair, was much colder than the wind outside, only adding to the dullness of his colorless house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to whoever reads this! This is my first Sterek fic that I had the courage to post online. Sorry in advance for the possible historical errors! 
> 
> Sterek is my OTP, so if you think you'd like a tumblr blog like that, [here](http://littleredhoodedstiles.tumblr.com/) it is.

“Are you sure?” His dad asked, for probably the seventh time today. Stiles was contemplating on cutting the Goddamn phone wire, but exhaled in exhaustion, absently tapping his finger away on his knee.

“Yes dad, for the last time I’ll be fine. I’ll be on my way as soon as the storm calms down. Okay?”

The snow outside was blinding, crowning the brightly lit houses with white gusts of wind that Stiles could barely see out his living room window. He curled his feet into the soft blanket and brought his knees to his chest. His house was warmed well by the fire Stiles had started in the morning along with the heat turned on high. But it looked bare without the bright Christmas decorations which would often be scattered around the house.  The lack of voices, the emptiness caused by the absence of a familiar broad figure, which would walk by and ruffle a hand through Stiles’ hair, was much colder than the wind outside, only adding to the dullness of his colorless house.

“I’m worried, alright? It’s Christmas and you… You just, you can’t wait forever Stiles –”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight dad.”

“Hey –” Letting out a long breath, Stiles threw his head back as the soft _ding_ of the old receiver echoed after he hung up.

Stiles stood up to head to the kitchen and brew himself a cup of coffee, until something clattered on the floor. Confused, he bent down to pick up a framed picture. Stiles had forgotten he was staring at the picture for probably hours until he was interrupted by his dad’s phone call. Fond smiles of him and Derek, arm in arm, stared back at him, almost mockingly.

“Idiot…” He muttered through clenched teeth.

***

It was odd. He felt so awkward, naked, even ashamed. But he shouldn’t have to. Stiles had no reason to. But how was it that just one look from Derek could sift him through so many emotions? How was it that Derek’s anger and disappointment could easily shake Stiles down to the very fine fibers of his determination? Things he thought he was doing for Derek were ironically the things that Derek found upsetting. It was frustrating.

“ _What?_ You did _what_ exactly?” Derek’s stare was intent; Derek always scared Stiles when he would talk calmly rather than yell if he was angry. Stiles gulped.

He knew Derek’s reasons. Derek was always a quintessential tough guy. Stiles also knew that majority of the time, it was Derek constantly watching over Stiles. Catching him in his falls, helping him in his losses. Derek was Stiles’ basic caretaker, so it was natural for him to be this worried and angry. Perhaps it was a role he filled because the two were in fact lovers. Not officially. Not verbally at all actually. Okay, maybe Stiles wasn’t on the dot as to what he and Derek were, but he knew, or in the least believed, there was something between the two. Something more than what they did.

“I said, I’ve decided to join you. In the army.”

“In the army.” Derek said, as if repeating the phrase would snap Stiles into some sort of realization.

But he simply echoed Derek, a grin spreading across his face. “In the army.” To which Derek buried his face in his hands, ears turning to a soft crimson.

“Do you even understand what that means Stiles?” Derek said, shaking his head to Stiles’ silent reply. He buckled on a boot, slipping his foot into the other. “It means death Stiles.” Derek paused to look up at the younger man when he said death.

“Derek I know war–”     

“No you don’t, you’ve never been out there or seen anyone who has. We’ll be landing in Sicily by July, and it won’t be all fun and games there. These are real people with the real intent to kill _anyone_.  You can’t win in a fight against people as lethal as them, not you Stiles.” Stiles clenched his teeth, plopping himself on a sofa across Derek as the older man sighed, buckling his other boot. He stood up and dropped down on the sofa beside Stiles.

“Look, I know this is your way of looking out for me. You’re my best friend,” Stiles winced, “And we’re close in ways that, you know…” Derek trailed off, slightly shifting his weight away from Stiles.

“Ways that what? Make us seem gay?” Derek widened his eyes, mouth agape. “Just come out and say it, we screw around. So what?”

“Shhh, shut up! The neighbours can probably hear you, Christ.” Derek whispered, putting a hand over Stiles’ mouth, which was soon slapped away by Stiles.

“Don’t touch me, you’re fucking annoying.” Derek smiled smugly, a hand resting on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Hey, relax. I’ll make it up to you.” Derek’s hand lowered towards Stiles’ lower back.

A series of sparks boiled Stiles’ spine and shot up, sending blood to rush to his head. On a usual basis, he would’ve liked it. But right now, this simply seemed as a way to distract Stiles. A way to deceive him.

“You look so cute when you’re blushing like that…” Derek whispered as leaned in, his lips close enough for Stiles to feel the softness of his breath.

But Stiles was tired of it. Tired of pretending that he was in a relationship, pretending that their constant activities were all that he wanted. Sure, the first time him and Derek had gotten drunk and had sex, it was exciting, new, and painfully addictive. But as they’d done it more, Stiles felt like he was being drawn further away from Derek. As if he were trapped in some set of trammels, mostly made of Derek’s insecurity or perhaps the possible and simple truth that Stiles couldn’t let himself believe: that Derek didn’t feel anything for Stiles.

They did have physical contact that was beyond their frequent and occasional hedonism. Stiles was sure he felt it. Physical contact that was not simply sex. It was something else. Something less, but in a way more. They cuddled when the other was feeling down, hugged when they felt happy, and patted one another on the head adoringly. It was these simple casual touches that, at times, meant so much more than their intimacy in bed, which now became a cruel game. One that Stiles was sick of playing.

“Stop that, seriously.” Stiles snapped, pushing Derek away as he got up off the couch. He kept his back postured towards Derek, not wanting to look at Derek’s dejected puppy-dog eyes he’d often pull off to lure Stiles back in.

“I-I’m a man of my own Derek. I’m pretty sure I can make decisions for myself. And who says… who said that I was looking out for you?”  A pause. One that lasted pretty long.

He probably shouldn’t have said that. Stiles wished he hadn’t.

It was a lie. Of course it was a lie, how stupid could anyone be to believe a half-assed voice-cracking response from the usual sarcasm Stiles perfectly conveyed whenever he spoke? But the silence from Derek’s reaction was unsettling. Stiles could’ve sworn his heart stopped and dropped into the pit of his stomach as Derek got up, grabbing his jacket and slamming the door without another word. Stiles’ clenched his fists, ironically hurting Derek once more.

***

Stiles shoved the frame away. His eyes were already stinging as drops of tears welled up in his sight, daring to spill over. But he wiped his face, sucking in any proof that he was on the verge of sobbing. It was pathetic, in his perspective at least. He refused to be reduced to tears every time he made stupid mistakes.

After a while, Stiles poured himself a cup of coffee. He reached up into the cupboard and groped around for the small bottle of medicine. Popping a few pills shakily into his mouth to relax his migraine, Stiles collapsed back onto the sofa, setting his coffee on the small table to his left. It probably wasn’t a good idea since coffee made Stiles only more spastic than he already was. Ever since Derek left, his free time consisted of nothing put painkillers and coffee for meals, and lulling away on the sofa.

But even when Derek was leaving, there was nothing. No farewell, no “happy send-off”. The house the two men shared used to be filled with noises of talking, laughing, bickering, arguing; of life.

The silence filled the house like a pungent odor when Derek walked out the door without a word. It was the calm of the storm, like the center where you could silently witness the destruction that surrounded you. And of course, you would stay within the center, unable and afraid to move forward.

And just like that, life around Stiles continued. It wasn’t as if everyone else was trapped in a coma of self-loathing, like Stiles, who allowed himself to be separated from Derek. As Stiles sat alone in the eye of whatever storm he was experiencing, he watched his friends and family move on. He still smiled at his best friend Scott’s wedding, standing by the newlywed couple as the best man. He still popped a bottle of champagne for his dad as he went down on one knee to present Melissa with a diamond ring.

He still refused to step forward. Refused to sell the home he sits silently in now. Refused to accept the possibility that Derek might not come back. No matter how violently active the winds around Stiles grew, he _still_ remained in his place away from life.

_Derek would come back, he has to_ were the words Stiles would encourage himself with. Sure, the silence may have been too much to bear at times. And yes, maybe it wasn’t the best idea for Stiles to not let himself drop a single tear. He wanted to be strong. What he didn’t want was to forget or leave behind what he had. What Stiles had with Derek.

And so, every day, Stiles waited. Because one day or another Derek had to come back right? And he wouldn’t die, he couldn’t. Years ago, Derek promised Laura he would stay alive for a long time, grow old with a large family. But he didn’t promise Stiles he’d come back. In fact he didn’t promise, or even say anything for that matter.

Still, Derek’s flushed face, fiercely kissed by the cold weather would pop into Stiles’ head.

“Stiles!” Derek would say, panting as he stands in the door frame.

And of course, Stiles would jump into his arms. He’d forget that anything bad happened between the two, forget what Derek said, or should have said.

“Finally, I thought I’d…” Stiles would trail off. He’d imagined himself to sob, inhaling in Derek’s familiar scent as he would bury his face into the older man’s chest.

And Derek would laugh. He’d pat Stiles’ head like always, call him a dumbass. But there wouldn’t be amusement in his voice. Purely love. Love that Stiles always wanted, that he knew Derek felt.

And then Stiles, as usual, would remember where he was and wake up from his daydream.

He’d look around, like always, expecting his gaze to be caught by a set of white smiling teeth, with two cute bunny teeth crested in the center. But, like always, there was no one. Inhaling deeply, Stiles shook his head.

He glanced at the clock, a small smile curling at his lips. It was half-past seven, which would usually be when Marian would knock at his door with a homemade dish in hand, every Christmas. It was kind of creepy how punctual the old woman was, but it still was nice to have someone check up on him in person. And as if on que, the doorbell rang just as Stiles got to his feet.

He turned out the living room and headed down the hall towards the main entrance. He grabbed the box of chocolates he’d gotten for Marian and her daughter and turned the nob to open the door.

His lips parted and the box dropped to his feet.

With the wind blowing as cold and strong as it was, Stiles would have shivered and winced, hiding behind the door and peeking out through a small crack. But he let it fly open, the gust of winter air hitting him hard, making his eyes water.

In front of him stood a young man, perhaps a few years older than Stiles, perhaps Derek’s age. But it wasn’t Derek. The man who offered Stiles a small smile with a quiet “Merry Christmas” was paler. He had an almost hallowed expression with curly brown hair framing his face. But what really scared Stiles was the fact that he had a uniform on, an army uniform with badges adorning his shoulder.

“Stiles Stilinski?” The man asked, but Stiles only gulped and nodded. His heart was rattling in his ears, his legs ready to buckle. The man bent down to pick up the box and gave it to Stiles, a weak smile tugging his lips. “I’m a friend. Derek Hale’s friend.”

“Where is he?” Stiles blurted out quickly. He should have been trying his best to hold in tears. Maybe it was the icy breeze or the irritatingly pitiful expression of the soldier that made Stiles more frustrated than saddened. He wanted to shout. Not only at the man but at Derek. How could he be so stupid, _so fucking stupid?_ “Listen buddy, either tell me or–”

The soldier abruptly turned as a figure struggled in the snow, climbing up on the steps. _Great another one,_ Stiles thought, opening his mouth to yell at the two to leave, but no sound came out. He just stood there, lips parted as his heart strangely slowed down.

Stiles wondered if he were daydreaming again, but another gust of freezing wind told him otherwise. Because there he was, smiling down at Stiles with a pair of bunny teeth peeking through his lips.

“Stiles!” Derek exhaled, as the man beside him snickered. Derek shot him a glare, punching him in the shoulder. “Isaac, you asshole, the hell were you saying?”

Isaac continued to laugh, heading down the porch and back to his car. He yelled out a “Merry Christmas” and drove down the road as Derek replied. But Stiles hadn’t moved an inch, his mouth still open in shock.

“Are you gonna’ let me in or…” Derek trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” Stiles pushed the door open and headed back in as Derek followed, closing the door behind him.

Derek let out a low whistle and glanced around.

“Everything’s pretty much the same, I’m surprised you stayed here.” Derek said, attempting to start conversation. “No Christmas Tree?” But Stiles simply shrugged, not looking up at Derek.

“I’ll make dinner!” Stiles said quickly, turning away to the kitchen. “I’ve gotten a hang of cooking since you left. Go take a shower or something, then come down. Alright?”

Stiles kept his back to Derek, but he could still picture the frown Derek probably had on his face after he sighed and headed up the stairs.

***

“You learned how to make lasagna, and not a pile of shit?” Derek said, walking into the kitchen in some pajama pants and a t-shirt. Stiles chuckled.

“Hey, I’ve kept myself busy.” He retorted, slicing through vegetables.

Derek was back. And all was supposed to be better. But the silence was still here with only the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, filling the pauses between Derek and Stiles’ voices. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything more to Derek, perhaps afraid that something might slip out.

The silence only made Stiles want to blurt it out again. Because maybe this time, Derek would reply. Maybe this time things would go better. And yet, he couldn’t say it. So instead, Stiles settled for mindless chatter.

“You can go sit at the table, I’ll be a while.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” Derek refused to Stiles’ dismay.

“I’ve also gotten better at making olive oil dressing.”

“Stiles –” Derek started, but Stiles interrupted as if he didn’t hear Derek.

“You know Marian’s daughter next door got married? They’ve come home for the holidays!”

He couldn’t let it slip out now. Not that Derek had finally come back. Not that things were going back to normal, even though it felt far from being so.

“We should –”

“We should see Marian from time to time, she gets lonely after her daughter moved out.”

“No, I mean –”

“Marian would check up on me a lot, even during Christmas, she usually brings some casserole. I feel bad.”

Not yet.

“Listen –”

“Now I remember! She didn’t come around this year because it’s the first Christmas with her new son-in-law!”

It was too early. Way too early for what happened next. He didn’t expect it, so Stiles had dropped the knife into the cutting board.

“Stiles.” Derek’s breath sent a shiver down Stiles’ spine, making his ears burn.

His hand was now clasped under Derek’s tight grip. Derek stood close behind Stiles, his torso pressed against Stiles’ back and his free hand on the counter beside Stiles.

“I’m sorry.”

It was like a shout compared to the languid miasma that suffocated their house for the past two years. And immediately, Stiles’ vision went to a blur as a familiar warm wetness trickled down his face, one that he refused to let himself feel for quite a while.

***

He sat there, a hand covering his eyes and reddened forehead as his head shook in denial. And Stiles didn’t know what to do. He just stood there, looking anywhere else but at Derek. He would have comforted him. Stiles would have sat down beside Derek and attempt to envelope his skinny arms around Derek’s broad frame. But it was awkward because Stiles should have been the one crying. Stiles should have been the one in fierce denial, exhaling with a shuddering breath in an attempt to stop tears.

“My mom had it.” Stiles muttered softly. “And I’m still in early stages, so it’s not that bad.” Derek didn’t answer and the silence continued to suffocate Stiles.

Derek finally tossed the medical report onto the coffee table after what seemed like hours. He sniffed, got up past Stiles and headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Stiles meekly followed Derek, lingering in the doorframe. He was afraid to approach Derek, not because anything bad would happen. But just afraid that he didn’t know _what_ would happen. He’d never seen Derek break down like this, not since his sister Laura passed away.

“How long did you know?” Derek asked. He turned around, leaning against the counter to face Stiles, eyes slightly puffed. He looked furious, but also tired. And of course, Stiles hated seeing Derek like that. 

“I only found out recently. The guys at the military said my medical report was too old, so I had to get a newer check-up. And uh, then _boom_. I found out.” Stiles slightly chuckled at the end. He didn’t know how to act. What the hell do you say to something literally deteriorating your brain?

“Frontotemporal dementia, Stiles. Not a _fucking_ flu, this is – why aren’t you – how can you still smile?” Derek managed to stutter with a fierce glare. And at that, Stiles lost it. Maybe Derek’s frustration was contagious, or perhaps this was frustration he had held in for quite a while.

“It’s not a concrete diagnosis, they’re not sure yet!” He finally burst back. “And what else should I do? Cry?” Stiles yelled and his voice trembled, but his eyes remained dry.

“Maybe show some fucking emotion?” Stiles clenched his jaw, not wanting to yell out. Derek would leave, he’d be gone. They couldn’t part like this, but Stiles couldn’t shut his mouth.

“Oh,” his voice, now calm but sharp. “Like you’ve been doing so for the past, what, three – four years?” Derek’s jaw almost dropped, but he caught himself and kept a stern face. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’ve been following _your_ example perfectly.” He almost spat the words, cutting them through the silence of the argument they had yesterday. It hurt, so much, but Stiles wouldn’t stop.

“This isn’t about us.” Derek lowered his voice, meaning to control Stiles, but it only made things worse.

“This has everything to do with us!” Stiles threw his hands in the air, now standing directly in front of Derek. His gaze turned soft, looking up at Derek. “You mean so much,” he stammered, swallowing a lump in his throat, “everything, to me. I thought –”

What Stiles expected was more arguing. Or perhaps a kiss, like a romantic movie as the two lovers would forgive each other and be on their merry way. But neither happened. Instead, the familiar execrable silence washed behind Derek, filling Stiles’ lungs as if it were a thick icy substance, as the older man walked away without a word.

And before Stiles could even take a step, Derek picked up his bag and gently closed the door behind him, leaving Stiles to drown in the same silence for three years to come.

***

Stiles blinked, tears falling on the cutting board in front of him as his vision cleared. It was as if Derek had reached into his calm barrier from the storm of life around Stiles, attempting to pull him out. At least he hoped it was. He didn’t know what to make of Derek’s apology. Wasn’t it _his_ fault originally? If he hadn’t been so adamant, so forward, so forceful, maybe Derek would have –

“Hey, Stiles.” Derek’s fist tightened, sending a surging warmth to travel through his covered fist. “Are you…” Stiles sniffed.

“Nah man, no. I’m – I’m good.” Stiles slipped his hand away from under Derek’s grasp, frantically wiping his face. “Sorry, this – I’m so pathetic,” he chuckled softly.

Derek stepped back as Stiles turned around, giving him a weak but sincere smile. Derek clenched his jaw tightly, his heart slightly aching. Stiles looked pallid.

The bags under his eyes had gotten darker than they already were before Derek had left for Sicily. Stiles looked cadaverous, his complexion exhausted as if he could fall apart any moment. Derek looked down. It was painful. He blamed himself. It was because of him that Stiles was so drained, and he couldn’t believe otherwise.

“Derek,” Stiles started, his face hardened, bracing for the worst. “Just talk to me. I can’t stand this silence anymore. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s me, alright?” He said it coldly and Stiles flinched. Derek didn’t mean to sound so harsh so he mumbled another apology and continued softly. “I was just confused. All that time, I just couldn’t stop, you know – touching you. You were like some sort of drug I guess.” Derek rubbed the back of his neck as Stiles looked calmly at him, listening. Derek felt so exposed, but he needed to tell Stiles, so he went on. “And when we fought, I guess I gave you the idea that we weren’t more than what we did.”

“Derek,” Stiles started.

“Just let me finish, please.” Derek burned his eyes into Stiles as the younger man sighed and nodded. “I know, I should have been more accepting to myself and to you – to us. I was scared and just thought this was something that would pass. Trust me when I say, the silence Stiles – it was killing me, I-I couldn’t stand it.” A beat. “Stiles, the moment I closed that door on you, I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.” The words echoed through the room, slightly revving up Stiles’ heartbeat. “You may hate me, I get that. I’m a dumbass. Fuck, we probably won’t be whatever we were or ever more, but just know that you mean something to me, Stiles. You’re more than just someone to me, you’re like,” Derek grunted, unable to say whatever he was trying to. “I don’t know!” Derek scratched his head, frustrated as he rubbed his face. “You’re just, you’re –”

In a flash, the soft brown eyes that were drilling their attention into Derek’s gaze disappeared. Derek was about to yell in protest, to grab Stiles and pull him back. He needed to say it, but the words just wouldn’t form, he didn’t know how to make them. And before Derek could try to arrange his sentences, a familiar warmth pressed fiercely against Derek’s lips.

Long pale fingers gripped the neck of Derek’s shirt as a slender frame pressed against his chest. Usually, Derek would have immediately reacted and his hands would have slipped down to unbutton jeans, flying skillfully to caress every spot that made Stiles quiver as he would smile smugly into rhythmic kisses. But this time, Derek was surprised; _this was different._

It was fierce with feeling, like a sensation of some sort that had been boiling underneath a calm surface for eons, finally breaking free and overflowing. But not as chaotic as Derek and Stiles’ usual lustful activities. Instead it was saturated with emotion, yet physically soft; almost ethereal. Derek felt that this odd mixture of fierce passion and delicacy was way too good to exist, especially for him. He knew he didn’t deserve it, but he gulped the moment down, burning Stiles’ touch onto his own lips in an attempt to never forget it, afraid Stiles would slip easily out of Derek’s grasp.

But there he was, pulling back with his red lips vividly contrasting against his pale complexion, the constellated moles down his cheek complimenting his fervid chocolate gaze. Stiles slowly let go of Derek’s shirt as Derek stared back idiotically with his mouth open in surprise.

“You’re everything to me.” Derek whispered, remembering the last words Stiles had said to him, as if Stiles had reminded him through the kiss. It was funny how even though Derek repeated that line over and over for the past three years, he still managed to forget what to say.

Derek collapsed onto Stiles with a hug, his large shoulders buried Stiles who was struggling under the older man’s weight. Derek held him close, scared that Stiles might fade away like the memory he had to rely on during his time in the war. The couple stood there, warmed to a blushing red in each other’s arms, with only the sound of the winter wind outside pushing against the windows.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The silence had been a suffocating experience, but this was different. This was peaceful, as if a war had been won. Perhaps, for Derek, even a greater triumph than helping the world war come to an end.

Derek breathed in Stiles’ sweet scent, moving his hands down to Stiles’ waist and pulling back to rest his forehead on the younger man.

“Merry Christmas Stiles.” Derek said softly. Stiles chuckled, ducking to smile into Derek’s shoulder as his ears reddened.

“Merry Christmas, big guy.”


End file.
